Anticipation
by Hermia S
Summary: Various speculative fics to fill the time between today and the release of Dragon Age 2. Who knows what'll be found here, honestly. The first oneshot has Varric and Fenris paired together, so. Enjoy? Wait, no. Let me do that over. Enjoy!
1. Medicinal: VarricxFenris

**A/N:** I can't take it, guys. I need to write something with these characters; I can't help myself. From here on out, everything - and I mean, EVERYTHING, including characterization (which makes me cringe, the thought that I could be so far off base it hurts) - is **speculation**. I'm going to try my hardest to write everything thoughtfully instead of banging my excited face onto the keyboard and uploading it. I promise. I'm just... so excited. Hence the title. ARGH MARCH WHERE ARE YOU.

* * *

**Varric x Fenris.**  
**Slightly-shippy. **

* * *

"... and then she leaned over, brushed her hand over my collar, moving so close I could feel her breath on my ear. Before she pulled away, she murmured a quiet, 'Good on you, Varric; should the nights get too cold this winter, I'll at least know the location of the warmest bed in the Free Marches.' I've never seen a smirk that damn... smug in all of my years on anyone but myself."

The elf half-lying on the opposite side of the couch took a long drag from the slow-burning cigarette, drawing the smokes into his lungs only to keep it there until he felt the burn. Exhaling slowly, his eyes fluttered open to watch tendrils of thick gray leave his mouth and nose, curling up around the contours of his face.

"Considering our location, the tales of your excess don't surprise me," he murmured, shifting himself on the dark red cushions. "The truth in them, however, is up for debate. Much... _much_ debate. Mmm."

Varric glanced around. He'd already soaked up every detail in this lavishly decorated room, having spent many nights lying on this very couch with this very pipe. The company was the only difference, though he wasn't exactly picky when it came to these things. He would go to whatever lengths to enjoy himself. It was his prerogative, after all, was it not?

He felt Fenris move again, this time extending his leg until his heel came to a rest just beside him. "This herb is...?"

"My favorite," the dwarf replied in his usual, charming rumble. Twisting the pipe in his hand, he took a deep breath from the smoke that rose from the illuminated herbs that burned at the very end of it. "It's efficient, doesn't stick to your clothes, and no one's any the wiser after a quick nap."

"So, essentially, this..." Fenris drew the cigarette away from his face, looking at the perfectly rolled paper with a curious light in his eyes. "... is the fabled weakness that you so often deny having."

The elf was smiling. Smiling! Granted, the smile itself was miniscule at best, no more than a lazy curl at the corner of his mouth. "Not a weakness, I think," he replied simply. A gloved hand brushed past the feathers on Fenris' clothes, smoothing up a slender, but clearly muscled thigh. "Recreation."

Fenris' breath hitched at the sensation, amplified by the seemingly pulsating feeling in his veins. He could feel almost every beat of his heart, every inch of skin, and it all felt... good. It'd been half an Age since he'd been able to relax, it seemed, and finally enjoying some time with the man who'd been forced into his company by the rather tactless Ser Hawke was most certainly an upside.

"So this 'recreation,'" Fenris began, tilting his head back until he felt the cushion give beneath the crown of his skull. He gave a quiet moan as his body relaxed muscle by muscle, only realizing the sound he'd made when he felt Varric's fingertips dig slightly just above his knee. "Why do you do it? To cloud your mind?" Opening a sage-green eye, he pulled the cigarette closer to his lips, hovering there but not taking a drag. "Is there something you want to forget?"

Varric gave a little 'huh' of disagreement. "I make sure not to forget the sort of thing most people would go to lengths not to remember," he murmured, mostly to himself, before taking another long drag and setting his pipe aside. "I'll... show you why I do it." A suggestive eyebrow arched high on his forehead. "... With your permission."

The other man gave a quiet murmur of approval, moving to sit up only to have a hand waved at him. Instead, he sat back, drawing another lungful of smoke as he watched Varric remove his gloves one at a time, revealing a pair of thick-fingered and calloused hands. Shifting his hips, if only slightly, Fenris allowed him to move onto his knees, weighing down the middle cushions as he pulled himself forward.

Curiosity ebbed into an almost blistering heat the moment Varric's index dragged over a strip of revealed flesh. Both of them had all but discarded their coats, unbuttoning them to give themselves room to breathe and to feel the cool, smoky air on their skin. This change had seemed for the best, but now he could think of no greater decision he'd ever made, this opinion of his doubling in intensity at the feeling of Varric's hair dusting over his stomach.

He bent lower. Lower, lower, and lower, only stopping an inch away from the seemingly pulsating lines and dots left by his tortuous experience. With this herb winding through his veins, however, they did not hurt. They didn't make his muscles clench and force him to shrink away.

They glowed.

The dimly lit room only tripled the light emanating the lines that ran along each tanned muscle, tracing the veins that lay beneath his skin. Even at this short distance, Varric kept his eyes open, painstakingly careful not to touch the threads of light as he curled and flicked his tongue upwards. Palms dug into the cushions on either side of Fenris' body as he made his way upwards, hovering above him, constantly aware of every movement the man made beneath him.

Whatever scrap of humility the elf retained as cast aside at the damp pressure of Varric's tongue stroking over his chest, kissing over skin he could not remember ever being touched with a hand other than his own and the Magister's.

When he finally made it all the way up to Fenris' face, Varric did not move away. They stared at each other for a long moment, sage reflecting honey, before the latter's devious mouth twitched into a smirk. He was always smirking, always so proud of himself for everything he did, each clever comment or plan gone right. It was part of Varric's charm – his undying optimism and ability to see the bright side of just about anything. On anyone else, such a trait would be cloying. But not on him. "Now do you understand?"

Before the confirmation ever reached Fenris' lips, his hand found its way to the back of Varric's neck, fighting through the warm, sluggish feeling to jerk the much wider, much heavier man down on top of him, lips crashing together and teeth clicking. A slender leg wrapped around his, yanking his hips downward to meet those underneath, and Varric found himself laughing into the kiss, even around the intrusiveness of the elf's tongue.

Oh, he definitely understood.


	2. Tokens: Fenris

**Fenris and Leandra.**  
**General: **_Emaline Hawke_ (female, mage).

* * *

The Amell estate's labyranthine hallways were ground deeply into Fenris' memory. He knew what lay behind each door, what rooms connected to those, and which would be inhabited by the people he'd come to know just as thoroughly as the home in Hightown.

By no surprise, he found Leandra Hawke in the estate's smaller sitting room, book in her lap and pair of wire-framed glasses poised on the tip of her nose. A set of intelligent blue-gray eyes flicked up to his, and her lips curled into an immediate smile, lines digging into her cheeks.

"Fenris," came her greeting. It was gentle and warm as it always was, and he followed an offered hand to sit in the high-backed chair beside her.

She watched him closely. After his time spent in their company, she'd seen a great change in him as compared to the nearly silent man they'd been introduced to initially. His movements were more fluid now. Relaxed. The air of discomfort wasn't nearly as strong as it had been, following him like shadow as opposed to cloaking him completely. She was pleased to see that he no longer wore his armor when visiting, opting instead for something softer - linen and butter-soft leather.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Leandra slid a strip of fabric into her book and closed it, a delicately lined hand smoothing over the cover. "Are you looking for Emaline?"

"I am," he replied, managing a little tilt of a smile. "Carver mentioned that she isn't home. It felt... odd to leave without saying hello."

Nodding, the woman crossed her ankles, shifting on the sofa to tilt just enough towards him to make it obvious that she welcomed his company. "If it takes you long enough to say hello, she might be back. She was fetching something from the apothecary for my aches. A talented herbalist she is not, that's for certain."

Fenris set his hands on his knees, his back straight save for a slight bend in his waist. He was uncomfortable with silence now, so used to listening to the bickering between Emaline and her brother, Isabela's teasing, Aveline's warm hum (and occasional singing). So when things grew quiet in the sitting room, he found words pouring from his lips.

"I often wished I remembered my mother. Wished I could do things for her as Emaline does for you." Fenris' eyes roamed around the room as he spoke, unwilling to look Leandra in the face due to his sudden, almost incomprehensible outburst.

She chuckled, her head giving a little shake. "She doesn't offer. Only when I ask does she do things like this." Her brows twitched inward a little. She remembered her own mother very clearly. Every feature, the cadences of her voice, even her smell - it all stayed with her, even at her age. What was it like to not remember the people who'd loved you?

"It's not just that. Not really. I've seen Hawke's face when you welcome her home. Even the slightest of touches elicits some response. A smile, a laugh even. It's... difficult to make her laugh."

"You never struck me as the sentimental sort, Fenris."

Fenris tilted his head, neck twisting just enough to look at her. "I... don't really - I keep it mostly to myself, but I am." He chuckled quietly, the sound full of disbelief. Was he really talking to her about this? Hawke's mother? "I keep things that remind me of the people I meet. Nothing large; tokens at most."

Another thoughtful nod was the woman's first response. "Why is that?" was her second, voiced after a short pause and flanked by another. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened for a moment. "If you don't mind my asking."

Shaking his head, Fenris' gaze moved to the ground between his feet. The muscles in his shin flexed, toes twitching over the stone, barely brushing the frayed edge of the rug thrown carefully across the center of the floor. "I hope that... Well, should I have these objects and forget everything a second time, I might remember them. The people in my life." A slight tightness in his throat kept his thoughts from flowing without a hitch, but he worked past it. "I have nothing to remember my old life by. Perhaps that is why my memory still fails me."

Leandra's curiosity was piqued. Whatever amnesia the Magister had left him with was a cause for some frustration, to be sure, but she hadn't expected this. Now that he'd mentioned it, however, it seemed like the most logical path to take. "What do you have of Emaline's to remember her by?"

"A ring," Fenris said with a quiet chuckle. "She gave it to me when we first met. It made me invulnerable to some elements to a certain point."

"Mm..." The thoughtful sound rumbled in her throat, fingers sliding over her book's cover to hold it balanced on her knee as she turned even more towards him. "Because of whatever magical enemy you would face while in her company?"

For a long time, all the answer he gave was a simple shake of his head. His words formed on his tongue easily; it was giving voice to what he knew to be true that he found so difficult. Any talk of emotions - and more specifically, _her_ emotions - was normally side-stepped before he could even consider speaking of them. But he wasn't talking to Ema. He was talking to her mother.

Once that thought formed in his mind, Fenris found his voice again. "Because of her," he said. The words sounded surprisingly thick, but there was a hint of amusement in what he said, as if he could not fully believe it himself. "It reminds me of her when I pick it up, since I no longer wear it. It's... cold, but it protects me."

"Protects you from...?"

"From her. Like she does, I suppose." His shoulders gave a deliberate shrug. "I figured you would understand."

When he looked back to her, he saw that Leandra's expression had shifted. There was something distant in her eyes, as if she was looking past the stones that made the floor and to the ground below, a sudden solemnity pulled around her slouched shoulders like a too-heavy cloak.

"I do," she murmured finally, "It's a fitting token, though I did hope that you would have found a happier token."

"The memories are happy enough, I think. I require little else."


	3. Sixth Year: AvelinexFenris

**A/N:** One of these days, I'm going to post something not involving Fenris in any way, shape, or form. He's sort of dominating this right now. Needs more Varric. And Isabela.

* * *

**Aveline x Fenris.**  
**Slightly-shippy.**  
_Cordia Hawke _(female, rogue).

* * *

Upon entering The Stein and the Sword, Fenris nearly bumped directly into a hurried Bethany Hawke. Her cheeks were flushed a healthy pink from drink, and a charming smile twisted at her lips until he feared her face would crack in two should it grow any larger. She murmured something about being in a hurry, lifting a hand to pat his shoulder only to think better of it, and kissed his cheek instead.

The tavern was packed to the brim, as usual, full of sailors and traders and soldiers. If Kirkwall was anything, it was a melting pot, and The Stein and the Sword was where all the bits and pieces gathered to be set aflame in one sense or another.

A small group of Templars clustered on one side of the room, near the stairwell that led up to the open-air second floor. One of them nodded to Fenris as he ascended the stairs, a gesture that he responded with in kind. The group's usual table was deserted in a way he hadn't seen in quite some time. All of the chairs stood empty save for one.

Aveline was sat alone, hands curled around a long since forgotten pint. Even from this distance, he could tell that something was wrong. His talents at reading people had doubled - perhaps tripled - during the length of time he spent keeping himself secluded, silent, and away from the group. The less time he spent talking awarded him with more time to watch those around him. He called them friends. Wasn't it logical to want to understand them?

Pulling out the chair beside her, Fenris sat without saying a word, though his eyes sought out her face at the first opportunity. Her expression was entirely blank, a jarring deviation from what he was used to. Even when she was not clearly pleased, there was something on her face. A look of determination, maybe, or even frustration, but Aveline was not an emotionless woman. He knew this for certain.

Her eyes roved upwards to meet his, and he discovered the truth. This passive expression did not suit her, not in the least. There were times when he found himself carted away when he looked over her face - the solid line of her brow, the strong curve of her jaw, her thick-bridged nose. But when she looked at him that way, there was nothing reflected back at him. None of her sedate curiosity; none of the guts she'd gathered over the years.

"Good to see you, Fenris," she greeted, though he didn't believe for a moment that she was and the curl of a smile on her lips never reached her eyes. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The question, 'Why are you sitting alone?' stilled on his tongue. It was too intrusive to launch it upon her without warning, so he reconsidered his approach, eyeing the roughly hewn planks of the table beneath his palms in contemplation. "I was only passing by. Today is the day Hawke and her family usually spends the afternoon here, isn't it? It is a yearly tradition."

All it took was his obliviousness to cause a thin line to appear between her brows, though it smoothed itself away not a moment later. "Not this year," she told him. Her voice was thick and solemn. "Bethany was the last to leave. She had to catch up to Isabela, which is why she was in a hurry. Hawke and Varric didn't come."

"Why is it?" Clearing his throat a little, Fenris looked to her. "Why is it a tradition for the four of you to meet here? On this day, every year?"

"Six years ago, on this day," Aveline began, one of her hands leaving the curved comfort of her pint to tap an index on the table, "we met while fleeing from Lothering." Her eyes moved to his, but his concentration on the gauntleted hand now splayed on the table kept him from looking back at her. "They saw it as an anniversary, and nothing more."

At that, the elf glanced at her, dark brows knitting inward. "But you didn't...?"

Drawing her hand back in, she slid it around the tall mug, falling into the position it had been in mere moments before. "You know of my husband..." Taking a breath, her thumb grazed along the lip of the pint. "You know what happened."

"Yes," Fenris replied despite her questions not sounding like questions at all.

When she next spoke, her words were wisps no more permanent than the hint of a smile she wore at the man's memory. "It's been six years today since he died." Her head began to move slowly from side to side, and only then did he notice that she no longer wore her headband. It lay discarded beside her mug, leaving her hair to dust over her forehead. "I expected to spend this day with my friends, as always. My surrogate family."

Her quiet, bitter laugh drove him to utter a quiet, "Please, don't," that stole her attention from the auburn color of her ale. She looked at him with an expression that might have seemed surprised had the muscles in her face twitched any more than they did. Even in the dim lighting of the tavern, he could see the growing lines that spread out from the corners of her eyes, weathered by what few smiles she imparted on the rest of them. "You're... here," he said, a bit awkwardly, "Why did you stay?"

"Some part of me hopes that they'll come back." Passing her tongue over her bottom lip, she looked away from him, casting her stare towards the end of the table. "Maybe Hawke will remember what day it is."

"I don't think she's forgotten. I think she chose not to come." When Aveline's brow creased deeper than it had before, he felt a sudden twist in his stomach. "I only meant - this day is difficult for her, too, isn't it? She did have a brother."

The woman seated beside him met his eyes through a thin curtain of hair. "It's different," she whispered, "I spend every waking moment of my year staying strong, and the one day I keep to allow myself to remember Wesley is..." She turned towards him, her hands still clutching her pint, a sudden urging in his voice as if she could force him to understand her. "I am not meant to spend this day alone."

Her words fell into relative silence. The tavern still buzzed around them, the steadily rising and falling of the inhabitants' voices creating an almost overpowering hum that did not require the two of them to speak. If they were alone, the silence would have been awkward; unbearable. Instead, Fenris sat, his fingertips brushing on the underside of his chair's arms, and waited until words came to him.

"You're not," he murmured, just barely loud enough for her to hear. He could see her look towards him out of the corner of his eye, but he never looked away from the worn corner of the table in front of him. "Even if they are not here now... that doesn't mean that you are alone."

Swallowing thickly, Fenris turned his head in her direction, his face serious and eyes unmoving from the moment they settled on hers. He watched her carefully as her brows twitched inwards despite her fighting, her eyes filling no matter how much she struggled to keep back the tears. "You called them your surrogate family, didn't you?"

A hand reached out to her almost as if pulled by invisible strings he had no control over. He looked to his arm in unveiled confusion, and his fingers flexed, hovering in midair as he strove to redirect them away from her face. But then he saw the first tear break away from the rest, rolling over the freckled curve of her cheek before disappearing into the skin near her jaw. This was not about him. Why was he attempting to make it so?

Aveline never stopped staring at him for a moment. Even when his fingers hesitantly brushed her hair away from her face, she didn't shut her eyes, fearing the shift would cause more tears to fall.

"They're still here," Fenris said in a soft, matter-of-fact tone, drawing his hand back to the arm of the chair. "You've not lost them, too."

For a man who'd lost, as she had, to an even greater degree, she could not ignore the truth in the sentiment. She would see Hawke within the week. Cordia often visited with Varric when she knew things were not as busy, when she knew they would have time to talk.

Part of her wondered why Fenris had been moved to comfort her in such a way, but there was a resounding truth beneath her curiosity. If she had been sitting in his chair, positioned across from him and listening to him talk about all that he'd been through, she would have offered the same support. An ear to listen, a supportive shoulder for the time being.

It appeared Fenris had that very thing in mind. Before Aveline could say a word of protest, her shifted on his chair. Both arms spread outward, though the unfolding limbs drew themselves out slowly, as if he was still contemplating the movement.

Before Aveline could say a word of protest, Fenris shifted on his chair. Both arms spread outward, though the unfolding limbs drew themselves out slowly, as if he was still contemplating the movement.

She looked at him, her fingertips still brushing whatever tears remained on her cheek. When she realized what he was offering her, she shook her head. The square of fabric fell with the rest of her arm, barred across her thighs. "That's... not necessary. You don't have to - I know it hurts you to be touched." Giving her head a shorter, more concise shake, she moved as if to rise to her feet.

Not a moment later, two muscled arms slid around her, stopping her from moving another inch. "I'm used to it," he murmured, head tilted back just enough to look into her confused expression. "It doesn't hurt as badly as you think. I have no reason to fear you, do I?" She watched him as his head cantered slightly to the side. "I am only being friendly."

"Oh," was the woman's simple response, the sound of it barely more than a whisper on her swollen bottom lip. Biting down on it again, Aveline allowed herself to move forward, her arms sliding around Fenris' middle, hands linking carefully above his spine. "Thank you. For listening. For being here, even if it was not intentional..."

Fenris nodded, his eyes falling shut as his fingertips smoothed over the pale, wrinkled linen that moved over her back. He'd expected a firmer grip, a more wiry form. He'd expected her to squeeze him. He'd anticipated pain.

Instead, he was met with only softness, and he felt himself relax.


	4. Party Approval: HawkexVarric

**Lady Hawke x Varric.**  
**Incredibly shippy.**  
_Cordia Hawke_ (female, rogue).

* * *

A peal of laughter echoed throughout one of the many Tethras residences dotted throughout Kirkwall, followed by a barely concealed low-pitched chuckle and a quiet, "Ssh!"

Varric wrapped an arm around Hawke's waist, pulling her closer to him to keep her from knocking anything over in the densely decorated hallways. "Manners, Slim," he muttered, grinning and pressing his face into her shoulder blade, intent on setting a good example for the sort-of-a-little-drunk Champion by not joining her in the ruckus. "People are _sleeping_. It's almost morning."

"S'why they should be awake!" Her eyes popped open, and she covered her mouth with her palm, a bubble of laughter only stifled by the index finger she held to her lips. Her voice dropped into an almost conspiring whisper, thick brows knitting over the bridge of her nose. The suddenly serious expression had her companion snorting back a laugh of his own. "It's why they should be awake. Stop looking at me like that. M'serious."

"Of _course_ you are, Cordy. That last pint had nothing to do with this." Despite the deadpan in his voice, there was something faint and adoring about his expression. Maybe it was in his eyes or the tiny curve at the corner of his mouth, but it was there.

Leaning down, Hawke gave him a kiss on the bridge of his nose. "Of course not," she muttered, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile as she grasped for his hand to half-drag him along with her.

She couldn't be bothered to count the number of times she'd made her way down these hallways in the dead of night. At first, it was due to her own little insecurities and the thrill of having a secret love affair with the best sort of scoundrel. Then, sneaking into his bedroom at night (knocking at his door with their quiet, secret code – twice, twice, once, and twice again so as not to have Bianca pointed in her face upon entering) was a necessity due to how busy both of them were. And now, well – they had reason to celebrate, and those celebrations often lasted well into the next day.

By the time they reached his bedroom, Cordia nearly barreled down the door, throwing it open and hurrying in, leaving him to close it and latch the lock. When he'd barely had time to turn around, his eyes latched onto the sight of her bare shoulders and back, all freckles, pale skin, and even paler scars. She wasn't wasting any time, was she?

"Nngh," he heard from her direction as he shrugged off his coat and placed it on the hanger near the door. "Beth's belt. I grabbed the wrong one."

Varric gave a warm laugh, holding out his hand as she turned to him with all the casualness of someone who'd been naked directly in front of him so often she didn't even realize she was standing there in her trousers and breast bind. After a couple of years together, such coyness would've been more of a slight on him than a flaw on her part. "Give it here," he said, "I'll put it somewhere you can find it."

She wandered over to him, tugging the belt from around her trousers with a little grunt of exertion. "Dunno how it got into my things," she sighed, letting the strip of leather fall into Varric's outstretched palm. "I don't wear red. I don't like silly little designs either."

"Something wrong?" he asked, shuffling to fold the belt and place it on the low-lying table at his side. "You haven't seemed too pleased with your sister lately."

Cordia didn't even try to stifle her groan. "She doesn't like you," came her simple and relatively tactless response, hands pawing over the folded fabric at his waist until his own belt came loose and she was able to get at his tunic. "Said I should be trying to help Sebastian. I shouldn't focus so much of my time on you. Bullshit, I say; truth, she says." Her fingers toyed with the intricate threading of his tunic, eyes narrowed at the details, though her mind was elsewhere in a big way. "When she realized I wasn't going to agree with her, she got flustered. Said your chest hair was unattractive."

One of Varric's brows shot upward, a confused expression crossing his features. "What's the big deal about my chest hair anyway?" His face was so incredulous, she laughed at him again. She couldn't help it. "I never did get that. It's just sodding chest hair. Humans grow it, too."

"But not in such excess," Cordia chuckled, the backs of her knuckles brushing over his sternum. "She said, 'I don't see what you like about him so much anyway. He's so short and hairy.' I couldn't think of anything to say to her. It was ridiculous." Her palm ran over one of his pectorals, sliding under the fabric of the tunic with a devious little smile. With every movement, her head sunk lower, closer to his face. "I like it, though. I like it _a lot_."

Tilting his chin upwards, Varric brushed a kiss over the corner of her mouth, his hands settling on her waist with a gentle squeeze. "Still don't see the big deal."

"Have you _seen_ Fenris after he's been out in the sun for too long? Looks like a roasted nug." Hawke bumped her forehead against his, fingers clumsily pawing at the buttons of his tunic. "I like my men hairy. I thought we'd embraced this as a general truth. Sky's blue. Grass is green. I like your chest, hair and all. It's a simple fact of life."

"You're drunk."

"Mm... yeah, I am. So?"

Varric laughed again, shaking his head. "You're a mess when you're drunk," he pointed out, though she didn't seem very concerned with the idea. He'd seen her in worse shape, after all. His chest rose and fell with a little huff of contemplation. "So this conversation you had with Beth."

Cordia's face was so close to his now that he could even see the tiny wrinkle that pinched between her brows, the downward curve of her lips. "Happened before I got to the tavern. S'why I was late." She glanced up at him, clearly unamused with the turn this conversation was making. "What's the point, Var? She's never liked the idea of us together. She doesn't understand."

Her face fell at the feeling of his hand sliding up the curve of her back, pulling her closer, the few inches between them closed without so much as another word. As she always seemed to, she bent at her waist, her hand leaving the warm inside of his tunic as her arms curled around his neck. Her cheek bumped into his ear, eyes falling shut not long after. "Doesn't want to understand, really. So..." Her voice trailed off, her head giving a shake when her thoughts didn't come to her. She was too warm, and she felt like she was sloshing around in her boots. Every time she reached for a cohesive sentence, it fluttered away with moment she'd barely gotten a handle on it. "So... _frustrating_."

"Hey, at least Isabela likes the idea," Varric murmured in a hopefully reassuring tone. A quiet chuckle chased his words, the memory of what had happened at The Stein and the Sword echoing in his mind. "Though, I wager she was just trying to butter me up for the inevitable sleight of hand."

"She likes cheating you," Cordia whispered in response, "It's 'cause you're an easy mark. I expected better of a card shark like yourself."

Varric made a little noise of disagreement. "Alright, alright. _One_, I'm not an easy mark. You were standing behind me with your breasts pressed into the back of my neck. Any man with sense would've been distracted. And _two_, I've never actually been any good at cards." His hand stroked over her lower back, climbing upwards to settle just beneath her shoulder blades instead of drifting even farther downward. "Just good enough to beat you."

"And you only started doing that after you'd gotten into my trousers," she sighed, nuzzling her cheek against the side of his face before drawing herself up to her full height. "I know, priorities and what not. 'Women like you only bed stupid men.' You cleared that all up the night of."

"Still remember that, do you?"

Cordia's serious expression cracked into a laugh. "You were _good_, too, but I saw through the ruse." Drawing a hand up, she pointed her index and middle finger towards her eyes and then towards his. "I knew you weren't stupid. You were too good at playing stupid to actually be stupid. A stupid man would've been _too_ stupid, and I wouldn't have been interested at all." At his arched brow, she gave a quiet, disoriented huff. "And I'm not even going to begin to try to explain that. Hnngh, not right now."

"Mmmaybe you should lie down?" His comment was met with an equally suggestive smirk, but this charming facade was shuffled away at the utterly innocuous look she gave him, all wide eyes and parted lips. To say that this expression was faked was an understatement, especially considering the naughty bubble of a laugh that left her a moment later.

Her fingers walked their way over his chest, up from the last remaining toggle on his tunic until they met the stubbly underside of his jaw. She gave the skin a little scratch. "Bad," she murmured, a grin curving at the corner of her generous mouth. "Bad, tricky man."

"I'm not without my motives, it's true," Varric replied smoothly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her waist. She was guided in the direction of the bed with ease, their boots clomping over the floor in an uneven beat. When he felt their stunted strides stop, he gave a little grunt of annoyance. It was difficult to see where he was going with his face lodged in between Cordia's modest breasts. Lifting his face up, his chin rested on her sternum, eyelids drooping at their corners. "I have to pull out all the stops for my lady, don't I?"

Leaning down, she buried her nose into his cheek, making a sound that might've been a word had her lips not been pressed against his jaw. Instead, she murmured a quiet, "mmmrr," her hands locking around his back. She drew her face away just enough to look into his eyes. "Lucky lady," she said, her voice gone soft as she dropped back to sit on the bed, a toothy smile taking up whatever space her earlier smirk had left behind.

"Yeah, well, we match, then." His hands found her face, fingers digging into her dark hair as he guided her forward into a kiss. Not long after, once the continuous, if slight movement of their lips forced them to part for air, he continued his thought. "Lucky – bad, tricky – man that I am and all."

"Now you're just trying to butter _me_ up," came her murmured reply. Her fingers flicked open the final button, sliding beneath the heavy fabric of his tunic until it dropped off of his shoulders, leaving him standing in front of her in nothing from the waist up. "Just because we have Isabela's approval, Aveline didn't glare at you near as much tonight, and Fenris wasn't nearly as – nearly as – oh, I don't _know_ he wasn't –"

"Belligerent?" Cordia looked at him with an even stare. Varric nearly choked on a laugh. "Pugnacious? Ornery? Cantankerous?"

Groaning, she let herself droop forward, her forehead nearly bouncing off of her chest from the impact. "Stop that. Stop it with your words." Having him only mildly buzzed and in a playful mood was perhaps the worst combination with her level of intoxication. Varric was mouthy. Wordy. She had moments where she could scarcely remember how to move her tongue. "They're making my head swim. S'not fair."

Varric clucked his tongue over the roof of his mouth. "Angry? Aggressive? Those better?"

"Shut up, you," she barely managed around a laugh, drawing herself up to look into his face with an oddly serious expression. "What I was _saying_ is that just 'cause they like you, doesn't mean you're getting off without a hitch. I'm still upset about what Beth said. I want her to like you as much as I do." When she noticed the height of his arched brow, she groaned. "Not that much."

Varric rolled his eyes, fingertips digging into the flesh of her hips where his hands rested. "You don't trust me, Slim? I'm hurt." He paused, a thoughtful expression falling over his shadowed features. "I guess that means it's not working? The buttering, I mean."

Pursing her lips though still a good distance away from him, Cordia let her eyes fall shut. "Of course it's working," she replied, her palms patting at either side of his chest. He lifted a hand to smooth her hair away from her face, and she leaned her head into it, a tiny smile quirking at the corner of her lips, which still begged for a kiss. "You know I'm absolutely useless when it comes to your charms. Useless in general right now, but still."

Chuckling, he leaned forward, giving her the smallest of kisses before pulling back and watching as her face fell. Her eyes flicked open, all expression gone as she looked up at him. This face brought another little laugh from her lover, and his hands slipped from her hair to grasp her by the backs of her arms, guiding her upwards and into another, firmer kiss.

"So that means you're staying tonight," he murmured against her mouth, a dimple carving into his cheek due to the decidedly smug smirk that pulled at his lips. "Your being hopeless does smack of potential for greatness here, you know. Don't let me down."

"Mmrr, wouldn't dream of it."

At that, her fingers slipped beneath the waist of his trousers, pulling him forward on top of her and letting out a strained guffaw the moment he collapsed. He hadn't even bothered to brace himself, having been taken by surprise in a big way. And instead of rolling off of her, he scooted upwards, ponytail drooping forward off of the top of his head along with the rest of his hair. "Hnf, Maker's breath, Varric," she gurgled, working her arms into the mattress in a desperate attempt to wriggle herself free.

"Hey, you wanted it, you got it," he replied with a quiet laugh of his own. Her shuffling and squirming stopped the moment his lips met the curve of her throat. His lips parted, pulling some of the flesh into his mouth only to flick his tongue over the flushed skin. "I know you can handle it, Slim. You didn't get where you are without fighting off the weight of those on top of you, huh?"

Cordia's throat bounced as another bubble of laughter left her. "Nnngh, this – this is a _little_ different, I think. Wouldn't have spent those months in Lowtown if all I had to do was sleep with you."

"Would've made the whole courting process a lot easier, too."

"Wait, courting process? You mean, you actually –?" A sudden pressure between her thighs caused her to tense, mind racing to remember exactly where his hands were. "Okay, okay! You've won out. You wooed me. I was wooed. It was very romantic. Now, can you please stop smashing me into oblivion and remind me why I came home with you in the first place?"

She felt a warm rush of air over her damp neck when he gave a little huff of well-faked offense. "And I'm supposed to remind you of your own free will how...?"

"I'm sure you can think of something." When he shifted off of her, Cordia nearly melted into the mattress with a relieved rush of air, dimples almost piercing her cheeks due to the width of her smile when she looked up to see him sitting there, staring down at her. "You are the brains in this relationship after all. And the brawn. And the charm. And pretty much everything else."

Varric arched a brow, shoulders bouncing in a shrug as he ran his hand over her bare stomach. "What about you, then? What do _you_ have to offer this partnership?"

His eyes flicked to his hand as she grabbed it between both of hers, drawing it up to her mouth to give the palm of his hand a few, clumsy kisses. "What do I do? Hmm... what _do_ I do?" She knew very well that they were equal on almost every playing field. She was an apt fighter. She was at least a little persuasive. She wasn't stupid, either. He was just very good at very many things. Shutting her eyes, she pressed her lips just over his wrist, chin tilting up to give his palm another kiss. "I reach for things on the really high shelves."

* * *

"I wonder, Varric, if you truly understand the importance of this interrogation," Cassandra interrupted. She'd stopped her pacing mere moments before, hands crossed behind her back and her eyes focused on him. "I am not interested in whatever 'relationship' you've conjured up. I want to know the facts."

He couldn't help but sigh. He didn't have fingers and toes enough to count how many times this Chantry Seeker had been quick to deny the fact that he and the Champion had been involved. "Is it really that hard to believe, Cass?" The book of information she'd thrown at him days before lay open in his lap to the page with six portraits, of him and of the people he'd grown close to over the past ten years. Dragging his gloved finger in a semi-circle around them, trailing over their faces as he met hers with a look of utter boredom, he continued, "You've _visited _with all the other important men and women in her life. Can you honestly still think I didn't have a chance?"

"I think you're a man who is prone to weaving tales with little to no truth behind them." Her words were clipped; staccato. She'd long since grown tired of listening to him speak at length with a single strand of truth threaded through is story. "I would ask you to speak plainly, but I imagine that is beyond your capabilities."

"You drag me in here. Throw me into this extremely uncomfortable chair. Threaten me by the edge of your blade to talk about Hawke for hours on end." Varric shut the book with a flourish, casting it onto the table at his side with such a lack of care it slid across the top and fell to the floor in a puff of dust. "You're expecting me to betray her. To tell you where she is, why she did what she did. You haven't given me a single reason to trust you enough to tell you the full truth."

Even as she opened her mouth to speak, he kept on. Since the moment she'd met him, he'd maintained an air of almost chilled insolence. He flirted, teased, and continued on, not caring a shot whether or not she believed him. However, everyone had a breaking point, when their attempts proved so useless they just couldn't take it anymore, and this was his. "Then you go ahead and tell me I'm _lying_ to you about the woman I love and have loved for years. _Years._ You want the sodding truth? I'm giving it to you, but you're too thick-headed and prejudiced to believe me."

Cassandra took a step forward only to have him rise up out of his chair in surprising defiance. "No matter what you've heard about me – and I wager you've heard a lot; you seem to be very good at keeping your ear to the ground – I can speak plainly. I have been speaking plainly. The people in that little book of yours have no reason to lie about her."

"Sit," was her only reply, and he did as he was instructed. When she turned around to head back to her table across the dimly lit room, she could hear him chuckle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as her entire body tensed. Bracing herself on the rough tabletop, Cassandra took a deep breath through her nose. "What is it? Why are you laughing?"

Leaning against the high back of his chair, Varric laced his hands over his stomach. A smug tilt of a grin replaced the impassioned expression he wore no more than a moment before.

"You know, Cass," he replied, that infuriatingly warm, teasing tone returning to his voice. "I think you're just jealous."

If she wasn't going to believe him, why should he fight it?

He knew the truth. That was what mattered.


End file.
